AN ATTEMPT AT MUTINY

The entire food-supply for my men was now reduced to four pounds of flour, two pounds of rice, and two pounds of satoo. This we gave to the four men who were to attempt to enter Taklakot. Their journey would be long and fatiguing. For us there were plenty of nettles to fall back upon. For myself I had a small quantity of tinned provisions, but I intended to keep these for worse days which, I feared, were in store for me.

I carefully instructed the four Shokas how to enter the Tibetan fort one by one in their disguises, and, in order to avoid suspicion, purchase only in small quantities at a time the provisions we required. When a sufficient amount was obtained to make one load, a man should immediately start back for our camp. The others were to follow separately for a few marches. At a given spot they would all four meet again and return together to us. It was exciting work to prepare the different disguises and arrange for everything. At last, after repeated good-byes and words of encouragement, the four messengers left on their perilous errand. All seemed quiet around us, so quiet that I unburied my sextant and artificial horizon and was taking astronomical observations when a herd of over a hundred yaks appeared on the pass north of our camp, and slowly advanced toward us. Were we discovered? Were the Tarjum’s men coming, preceded by their animals? No time was to be lost. Instruments and blankets were quickly cleared away and hidden. Crawling up toward the animals, that had stopped on seeing us, we threw stones at them in order to drive them down the next creek. We were just in time to do this and return to our hiding-place when we saw, on the summit of the pass and on the other side, a number of Tibetans following the yaks we had driven away. The Tibetans passed only a couple of hundred yards below us, evidently quite unaware of our presence. They were apparently looking for our tracks, for they often stooped to examine the ground.

Later in the afternoon I went to reconnoitre down the Gyanema road, in the hope of watching, unseen, the Tibetans who passed on their way to and from Taklakot. I saw no soldiers. A strong band of brigands, driving before them thousands of sheep and yaks, was an interesting sight. The bandits rode ponies, and obeyed their leader smartly when, in a hoarse voice, and never ceasing to turn his prayer-wheel, he muttered orders. They went briskly along, women and men riding their ponies astride. The men had matchlocks and swords. Each pony carried, besides its rider, bags of food slung behind the saddle. I watched the long procession from behind rocks, and felt somewhat relieved when the last horsemen, who passed only some twenty yards from me, rode away with the rest of the caravan. I retraced my steps. Judging that this camp was not quite so safe as I had at first imagined, I proceeded, with the aid of my men, to make a rough intrenchment and to erect a wall round the platform, sheltered by the projecting rock under which we lived. These bulwarks hid us from the sight of passing Tibetans, and were serviceable as fortifications in case of a night attack. All our things were buried a short distance above our camp.

Another long, dreary day had passed. We had used our last grain of salt. Yet another day on nettles alone, and a third day and a fourth on the same diet! How sick we got of nettles! The days seemed endless as, lying on a peak above our camp, I remained hour after hour scanning with my telescope the long plateau above the Gakkon River in search of our expected messengers. Every time I saw men in the distance my heart leaped, but on focussing them with my glass they turned out to be Jogpas (bandits), or Dogpas (nomad tribes of smugglers), or travelling Humlis or Jumlis, on their way to Gyanema and Gartok. As time went on and the messengers did not put in an appearance, we began to entertain doubts as to their safety. Would they betray us and never return? Or had they been caught by the Jong Pen (the Master of the fort), and been imprisoned and tortured?

My Indian servant declined to eat any more nettles. He said it was better not to eat at all than to eat the same thing constantly. He declared he could fast for ten days, and would make up for the lack of food by sleeping.

My fortified abode was comfortable enough during the morning when the sun shone on it. Often when the rock had absorbed a good deal of heat, it got so warm that we had to abandon it in the middle of the day, when the thermometer registered as much as 120 deg., 122 deg., and even 124 deg. From 1 P.M. till ten o’clock at night a bitter wind blew from the south-east and seemed to get right into our bones. So cold was this wind that the temperature suddenly dropped down to 60 deg., and even lower, the moment the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and continued to fall as low as 40 deg., 34 deg., and 32 deg. during the night. One night we had a terrific gale and a snow-storm. Such was the force of the wind that our wall was blown down upon us as we slept under its shelter. The hours we had hoped to rest had to be spent in repairing the damage done.

On the following morning we were gathering nettles for our meal when we heard the distant tinkling of fast-approaching horse-bells. We quickly put out the fires, hid our things, and hastened behind our bulwarks. I seized my rifle. Chanden Sing loaded the Martini. A Shoka, who was too far off to reach our fortified abode in time, screened himself behind some rocks. In the nick of time! Half a dozen soldiers, with matchlocks to which were attached red flags, were cantering gayly up the hillside only a few yards in front of us. They were undoubtedly searching for me. They looked in every direction, but fortunately never turned their eyes toward the castle walls that concealed us. Perhaps they were expecting to see a large European tent in one of the valleys, and never dreamed that we should be where we were. We covered them well with our rifles, but we had no occasion to fire. They rode on. The sound of their horse-bells grew fainter and fainter as they disappeared on the other side of the pass. These horsemen were probably soldiers despatched by the Tarjum to guard this track. They were now on their way back to their master, satisfied that the Englishman was not to be found in that part of the country.

We named that spot “Terror Camp,” for many and horrible were the experiences that befell us there. Another weary day dragged slowly to its close, and no sign of the messengers’ return. Two men volunteered to go into Kardam, a settlement some miles off. There they would try to obtain food from the Tibetans. One of them had a friend at that place. He would try to buy from him sufficient provisions to enable us to go on a few days longer.

Disguised as pilgrims, a disguise not difficult to assume, for their clothes were falling to pieces owing to the rough marching we had done of late, the men started and were away the whole day. When they returned late at night they had an amusing tale to tell. Meeting a tribe of Dogpas, they had boldly entered their camp, asking to purchase food. Unfortunately the Dogpas had not sufficient for themselves, and could not spare any. Incidentally my men were informed that Lando Plenki (the name the Tibetans had given me) had taken a large army of men into Tibet. Great excitement prevailed at Taklakot as well as at other places, owing to the fact that the Englishman had the strange power of making himself invisible when the Tibetan soldiers were near him. He had been heard of in many places in Tibet. Soldiers had been sent in all directions to capture him. His tracks had several times been discovered and followed. Yet he could never be found. Messengers had been hastily sent out from Taklakot to Lhassa (sixteen days’ journey), and to Gartok, a great market in West Tibet, asking for soldiers to assist in the capture of this strange invader, who was also said to have the power of walking on water when crossing rivers and of flying over mountains when he chose.

When I recalled our struggles and sufferings in climbing over the mountains and in crossing the streams on our journey, this account of myself given by the Tibetans, and now repeated to me, struck me as almost cruelly ironical. I was pleased that the Tibetans credited me with such supernatural powers, for it would keep them from getting too close to us.

Three more long days were spent in painful anxiety regarding the fate of our messengers. We feared that they had been captured and beheaded. We had retired in despair to our fortress. It was 10 P.M. We were worn out and ready to turn in. Our fire at the bottom of the creek was slowly dying out. Nature around us was as still and silent as death. I suddenly heard sounds of approaching steps. We listened, peeping through the narrow openings in our wall. Were these Tibetans trying to surprise us in our sleep or were they my men returning at last?

We closely watched the gorge from which the sounds came yes, faint sounds of voices and of footsteps. At last four staggering figures crawled cautiously into camp. We could not even then discern in the dim light whether they were our messengers or not.

“Kuan hai?” (Who is there?) I shouted.

“Dola!” replied a voice. We gave them a joyful and hearty greeting, but our happiness was not to last long. The men did not respond. They seemed quite exhausted and terrified. I asked them to explain the cause of their distress. Sobbing and embracing my feet, they at first declined to tell me. Grave, indeed, was the news they brought.

“Your days are numbered, sir!” at last cried Dola. “It is impossible for you to get out of this country alive!... They will kill you! The Jong Pen of Taklakot says he must have your head at any cost.”

“Do not look so far ahead, Dola,” I replied, trying to console him. “Tell me, first, how you reached Taklakot?”

“Oh, sahib, we followed your plan. We suffered much on the road. The marches were long and severe, and we had little food. We walked day and night for two days, keeping away from the track, and hiding whenever we saw any one. When we got near the Tibetan fort we saw, at the foot of the hill, a few tents of Shokas from Népal. None of the Shokas from British Territory had been allowed to enter Tibet. A guard kept a sharp lookout day and night in order to arrest anybody entering the country from that side. Two fakirs, who were on a pilgrimage to the sacred Mansarowar Lake, unaware of the danger, had crossed over the Lippu Pass, and had proceeded down to Taklakot. They were immediately seized and accused of being you, sir, in disguise. As the Tibetans were not quite certain as to which of the two was the disguised Englishman, they severely punished both, beating them almost to death. What became of them we were unable to learn. The Tibetans afterward found out that you had entered Tibet by another pass, and soldiers have been sent in every direction to look for you.

“No sooner did we appear at Taklakot,” sobbed Dola, “than we were pounced upon, knocked about, and arrested. They cross-examined us closely. We professed to be Johari traders who had run short of food, and had made for Taklakot to buy provisions. They beat us and treated us badly, until your friend Zeniram, the head village man of Chongur (in Népal), came to our rescue and gave thirty rupees surety for us. We were then allowed to remain in his tent, guarded by Tibetan soldiers. We secretly purchased from him and packed the provisions. At night Zeniram succeeded in decoying the soldiers who were guarding us into his tent, and gave them choekti to drink until they became intoxicated. One by one we four succeeded in escaping with our loads. For three nights we marched steadily back, hiding during the day. Now we have returned to you, sir.”

Dola paused for a minute or two.

“Sir,” he continued, “we were told in Taklakot that over a thousand soldiers are searching for you everywhere. More are expected from Lhassa and Sigatz, whither the Jong Pen has hastily sent messengers. They fear you, sir, but they have orders from Lhassa to capture you at any cost. They say that you can make yourself invisible when you wish. Exorcisms are made and prayers offered daily, so that in future you may be seen and arrested. Once caught, they will have no pity on you. You will be beheaded. The Jong Pen is angry with you, owing to the defiant messages you sent him from Garbyang. He has given orders to the soldiers to bring you back dead or alive. Whoever brings your head will receive a reward of five hundred rupees.”

“I had no idea my head was so valuable!” I could not help exclaiming. “I shall take great care of it in the future.”

In Tibet five hundred rupees represent a large fortune. The man possessing such a sum is a rich man.

My men looked upon the whole affair as very serious.

I gave a handsome reward to the four men who had brought the provisions, but that did not prevent all my Shokas declaring that the danger was so great that they must leave me there and then. Appeals are useless on such occasions. I simply said that I should shoot any man attempting to leave camp. Having now provisions for ten days, I informed my men that we must at sunrise push on.

Sulky and grumbling, the Shokas left the fortified corner and went below to the creek. They said they preferred sleeping down there. I suspected them. I sat up watching them and listening instead of sleeping. My Indian servant rolled himself up in his blanket, and, as usual, was soon asleep. The Shokas lighted a fire, sat around it, and with their heads close together held an excited council in a half-whisper. In the heated discussion some spoke louder than they imagined. The night being particularly still, and the place well adapted for carrying sound, I overheard words which put me on the alert. I soon convinced myself that they were arranging to sell my head ... yes ... and to divide the money!

The men got closer together, and spoke so faintly that I could hear no more. Then they each in turn placed one hand above the other along a stick, until the end of it was reached; each man then passed it to his neighbor, who went through the same performance; a queer kind of drawing lots, common among the Shokas. Eventually the man selected by fate drew from a load a large Gourkha knife, and removed its scabbard. I well remember the moment when the men, with their faces lighted by the small flame of the flickering fire, all looked up toward my aerie. Seen from the fissure in the wall behind which I knelt, their countenances seemed distorted and ghastly. They listened to hear if we were asleep. Then all but one rolled themselves in their blankets, completely covering their heads and bodies. The one figure I could now see sat up by the fire for some time, as if thinking hard. Every now and then he turned his head up toward my fortress and listened. At last he got up and, with his feet, smothered the fire. It was a lovely night, and as soon as the reddish flame was put out the stars shone like diamonds in the deep-blue sky.

I rested the barrel of my rifle on the wall, my eyes being fixed on the black figure down below. Stooping low, the traitor crawled step by step the few yards up to my abode, pausing to listen each time a rolling stone caused a noise. He was now only two or three yards away. He seemed to hesitate. Drawing back, and ready to spring up, I kept my eyes fixed on the top of the wall. I waited some time, but the man was in no hurry. I grew impatient.

I slowly got up, rifle in hand, and as I raised my head above the wall I found myself face to face with the man on the other side. I lost no time in placing the muzzle of my Mannlicher rifle close to his face. The surprised Shoka, dropping his knife, went down on his knees and begged my pardon. He received a good pounding with the butt of my rifle. I felt I had better ascertain that no further disturbance took place during the night. Two men attempted to crawl out of camp and desert, but I discovered them and stopped them in time. At last the sun rose, and the night ended with all its troubles and anxieties.